OUR SENTIMENTAL GARDEN 



The beauty of the ancient woods in that Lancashire 

 home from which we have just returned lingers in our 

 memory. Outside the park walls, the flat fields lie that 

 would have a charm of their own if the encroachment of 

 the peculiarly unlovely brick and mortar prosperity of the 

 district did not catch the eye on almost every side / but 

 within there is a sense of wonderful peace and mystery, 

 in the old, old woods with their Rhododendron glades. 

 The astonishing height of the trees 

 seems to keep modernity at bay, and 

 tells stories still of the simple, proud, 

 God-fearing race which has be- 

 come so associated with the very 

 spot of earth that has borne 

 and nurtured them for 

 many centuries, that, like 

 one or two other families 

 in England, their name in 

 absolute legality is not 

 complete without the ter- 

 ritorial appendage. 



We hear every day that "the 

 Squire" is a being of the past. 

 We know that every effort of 

 present-day legislation is to 

 abolish what was once the strength 

 of England/ what might still be its 

 strength, if the restless and destructive 

 spirit of the age would permit it, 



